


When All Else Fades Away

by bioticbootyshaker



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 03:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioticbootyshaker/pseuds/bioticbootyshaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the destruction of the Chantry and the slaying of Knight-Commander Meredith, Hawke and Anders take to the road to escape the long arm of the Chantry and Templars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When All Else Fades Away

When All Else Fades Away

i. _Cumberland_

They settled in a house on the shoreline, a good distance away from the rest of town. Anders enjoyed the solitude and quiet, while still being within walking distance of the marketplace whenever he and Hawke needed something. The people of Cumberland never looked at him strangely, or inquired as to where they had come from or how long they might be staying. They seemed not to care a whit about the affairs of others, and remained aloof most of the time. That wasn’t to say they weren’t pleasant, just... a bit distant.

Anders much preferred their attitude to that of the people of Kirkwall. There, everyone’s business had been open for dissection and discussion; everything from who was shacking up with whom, to what the Countess had worn to afternoon tea. The conversation had been so tedious, so dreadfully boring that Anders had sometimes longed for the bloody _Wardens_ ; and that was the good of it. On the other side of the same coin, there were the dark whispers, and the pointed fingers and the accusations. Anders had found only his fellow Fereldans agreeable company, no matter how badly they had smelled of wet dog. 

He and Hawke had a chance for a new start. Anders knew the Templars would eventually be on their trail and it would be time to move on to somewhere else; but he enjoyed the quiet and the sunset over the ocean and the time they spent in Cumberland greatly. Perhaps because he knew it wouldn’t last forever, Anders found it that much more beautiful. It felt like home. For a man who had spent his entire life either imprisoned or living in destitution, having a home was something indescribable.

Hawke found work on a farmhold a little ways outside of town. He worked all day, and came home smelling of sweat and dirt and other unmentionable things; but Anders always kissed him when he entered, not caring about anything but having a home; having a home with _Hawke_.

“I should find work as well,” Anders said one night. They had eaten and bathed and were laying in bed together when he spoke suddenly. Hawke had been drifting to sleep, because he took in a deep breath and blinked rapidly a few times before looking up at Anders. 

“Did you say something, love?” Hawke asked.

“I said I should find work,” Anders repeated. “It makes no sense for you to be the only one bringing in coin.”

“I don’t mean to sound like a downer,” Hawke said, “But part of the reason we came here is so you could remain hidden from the Templars. They will have bounties out for your head by now, I imagine. If someone in town sees you---”

“I will be careful,” Anders argued. “I will not live my life confined in this house, hiding in the shadows like some simpering coward. Might as well return to the Circle if that’s all the future holds.”

Hawke lifted himself up on his elbows, pressing a kiss to Anders’ naked shoulder. “Whatever you think is best,” he agreed, reluctantly, “I would say I trust you not to endanger yourself, but we both know that isn’t true. But I trust you not to endanger _me_ , at the very least.”

That wasn’t true either, and Anders knew it. He had endangered Hawke more than enough, though he had taken great pains to keep him from the brunt of the backlash following the destruction of the Chantry. Even still, Hawke had suffered for it, and Anders would do anything he could to make his life easier if he was able. 

He found work at a clinic in town. After running his own clinic in Kirkwall there was nothing they could throw at him that he hadn’t dealt with before. Having others there to help him was welcome, and Anders found himself growing fond of his colleagues. Most of them were not mages, and instead healed only with herbs and salves, setting broken bones and passing the more desperate cases to Anders. There was always the danger of exhausting himself with so many patients, with having to reply on herbs and salves himself. Mana was not limitless, and the last thing Anders wanted was to wind up in the clinic as a patient himself, or something even worse. 

 

Only a few weeks later, Garrett was packing up their meager belongings when Anders returned home. He looked at Anders, dark eyes apologetic for something that was beyond his control. He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t need to. Anders knew it was time to move on, time to say goodbye, time to return to the road and get used to the lonesome feeling of not having a home. His heart hurt, worse than he could express, but he nodded and silently helped Hawke finish packing.

 

_ii. Orlais_

Of all the places in Thedas they could have chosen, they had settled on Orlais. Anders had suggested Nevarra, but Hawke wanted to steer as clear of Tevinter as he possibly could. Anders understood his aversion to the place, but he still would have preferred anywhere in Thedas to Orlais. The place was far too pompous and ritzy for him; filled with vapid people who cared more about the ribbons one adorned their shoes with than the suffering of others. 

Hawke enjoyed Orlais little himself. Work was far harder to come by. It seemed he carried the stink of Ferelden on him, and the people of Orlais all turned their noses up at him. Once he had been welcome, the Champion of Kirkwall, dining with the nobles and royals alike, rubbing elbows with important people; now he was delegated to the gutter, kicked and forgotten. 

There was always work for a healer, and Anders set to work immediately. The people at the clinic in Val Royeaux were far more rigid and cold, and hardly passed more than a handful of words with Anders the entire six months he remained employed in the city. But it was home -- although a home he would not have chosen and held no great affection for -- and Anders enjoyed the stability. 

Each night, when he returned to their meager home on the poorest side of the city, Anders would find Hawke waiting for him with a tired smile at the ready. He would press a kiss to the corner of Anders’ mouth, his hand slipping to the small of Anders’ back. Later, they would retire to the bedroom, where they blended together as seamlessly as they always had. Two shadows becoming one. 

So yes, it was home -- what it lacked in comfort he and Hawke more than made up for with love and tenderness. 

And then Anders found the poster placed on the alley wall just outside the clinic where he worked. 

**WANTED FOR CRIMES AGAINST THE MAKER**

Under the bold text, a crude drawing of his face, along with his name and the accusations against him. The end of the wanted poster was what frightened Anders the most, and what prompted him to return home swiftly and begin packing their things. 

**TO BE KILLED ON SIGHT, BY THE DECREE OF HER GRACE, DIVINE JUSTINIA.**

There would be no pleading, no begging for mercy, no “dead or alive.” The templars wanted his body, wanted him to pay his price in blood, and Anders was not yet ready to die. When Hawke entered their home and found Anders collecting their possessions, he sat down on the end of the bed with his hands between his knees. Again, he was silent, but Anders knew that he was tired, that he wanted only to rest and be together and be _happy_.

“It won’t always be like this,” Anders said. He wished he could have sounded more convincing, at least to his own ears. “I promise you that. One day, we will be free from the Templars reach, and we can stop running.”

Hawke looked at him. His lips were smiling, but his eyes weren’t. There was no anger in them, no blame; only exhaustion. 

“I know,” Hawke said.

 

_iii. Ferelden_

_Home_. 

It was a difficult place to come back to. Crossing the Frostback Mountains, making their way across the open fields, stopping at farmholds and sneaking into hay to sleep as they travelled, renting rooms when they had the coin to spare. What was harder was coming to the place where he had spent so much time imprisoned, kept as nothing more than a dog on its leash; Fereldan’s loved their dogs, so the stereotype went, but Anders had been terribly mistreated. Abused, broken, beaten -- and that had been the best of it. The worst had been... nothing. Being ignored, being made to feel worthless, less than human, unworthy to even draw breath.

They passed the Tower at Lake Calenhad. Anders stopped just long enough to stare across the lake at the place where he had spent his youth. Hawke slipped an arm around his shoulders and turned to press a kiss behind his ear. Anders closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, unsurprised at the hot sting of tears. He tasted them at the back of his throat, and there was no stopping them.

Hawke was silent, keeping his lips to Anders’ skin, brushing at his tears with the heel of his thumb. He demanded nothing from him, and offered no platitudes or hollow words. His warmth was enough; his lips and his arm slung over Anders’ shoulders and his breath against Anders’ neck. 

“Just... feeling a little sorry for the boy who had to live in that tower,” Anders whispered. “The boy who climbed from the windows just to taste fresh air and scaled that place to feel grass between his toes. He used to doodle in vellum, you know, sheets and sheets of grand escapes and templars left slaughtered in his wake. There was an elaborate story written down; a boy who ran from the tower and lived free. But he was just... sad, and dreaming. He used to go to sleep thinking of his first kiss. He wanted that so bad it hurt him, and when he got it...” 

Anders chuckled, shaking his head. “It wasn’t what he thought it’d be. It was sloppy, too much teeth and noses bumping. And it was the best kiss he could have ever dreamed of. It was something no one else could control, something that was _his_.”

“Anders---”

“So I’m sorry for him,” Anders continued. “But it’s time to move on now. To let it go, if that’s even possible. I look at this place and Justice wants to burn it to the ground, but I can’t let that happen. I can’t... Go on like this anymore.”

Hawke’s lips touched his temple, soft, gentle, warmer than Anders remembered them being. 

“I’m trying,” Anders whispered.

“I know,” Hawke said, squeezing Anders’ shoulder. “I know that.”

“Karl used to tell me that any place can be a prison if you allow it to be,” Anders said. “I don’t want this place to be my prison any more. I don’t want... home with you to be a prison, either. I want to be free with you.”

Hawke nudged his nose against Anders’ cheek.

“I know,” he repeated. 

_iv. Uncharted Territory_

They walked along the Imperial Highway, skirting Redcliffe as they did so. The place was far too small, the Chantry too large; there was no way Anders would remain undetected in such a village. No, it was best to find a place where the Chantry had no reach, to find a place where the Templars were nothing but a myth and the people lived free of bond and chain. Short of going to Par Vollen, Hawke had no idea where they would make their home. 

There was no where in Thedas where the Chantry and the Templars wouldn’t find them. 

The Kocari Wilds would offer some refuge from their hunters, but there were worse dangers in the Wilds than what they ran from. The Chasind would not welcome them.

“South, then,” Anders said. Their camp was meager, but he found enough warmth by the fire to stop his teeth from chattering. Hawke slung his cloak over Anders’ shoulders and stretched out his legs, tapping his boots against the stone bed of their fire, kicking up ash and embers. He ached all over, and the last thing he wanted to do was talk. He felt like he could close his eyes and sleep for a hundred years. But Anders _did_ want to talk, so Hawke covered a yawn and listened.

“We go South,” Anders repeated. 

“South,” Hawke murmured. “Mm. South is... nothing. It’s uncharted. We’re as likely to fall off the edge of the world as we are to find a home.”

Anders smiled. “I had no idea you were so superstitious.”

“I’m not,” Hawke said. “You’ll find I’m actually rather practical. No one knows what lies to the South. No one has ever been there. Hence the ‘uncharted’ business.”

“What other option is there?” Anders asked. He was flustered, frustrated, the edge in his voice sharp but terribly fragile. It wavered as it cut. “What would you have me do? The Chantry is everywhere else, and their Templar dogs. Would you have me die so you can rest your feet?”

Heavy silence met Anders’ question. Broken a moment later when Hawke gripped him by the front of his cloak and jerked him forward. They were close enough to where Anders could feel Hawke’s breath on his lips. 

“Don’t you dare,” Hawke said. “Don’t you dare say that to me.”

“No,” Anders whispered. “No, I’m sorry.”

Hawke’s fingers loosened, and he sighed slowly. “I love you,” he said, as gently as he could, “And I will make a home with you wherever you lead me. But South, Anders---”

“It could be an adventure,” Anders said. The way he smiled made him look years younger, like an eager little boy with too much spirit to ever be caged. Anders might have felt sorry for that boy -- scaling walls to feel wind and grass, aching for his first kiss, running wild in the libraries and riling Templars into frenzies -- but Hawke only loved him. Loved the boy who had become the man sitting in front of him; loved the man that much more because of him. 

“It could be the end of us,” Hawke said. Anders’ smile was infectious, though, and he couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

“Well, something is bound to be,” Anders said. “Wouldn’t you rather it be this?”

“I want a home with you,” Hawke said. “I want you to be safe. If that means we go South, then... We go South.”

Anders leaned his head against Hawke’s shoulder. Hawke held him and kept his lips against Anders’ temple. He was scared, of course he was; they were wandering into a place that was likely to kill them. But he was also hopeful, and so long as he had that, he wouldn’t despair.

So long as he had Anders he would hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ladyvega on tumblr.
> 
> They wanted domestic kink but... This kind of happened. I'm sorry, aaaaah. ;;


End file.
